


Unwound

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson winds his watch. Written for JWP #28.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwound

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: References to well-known canon events. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.
> 
> JWP #28: It's All in the Details. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, either diagnosed or not.

I find the ticking of a pocket-watch particularly soothing. Even as a child, I could be calmed or even lulled into sleep by my father’s pocket-watch. This proved particularly useful after my return from Afghanistan, when memories and fever left me prone to insomnia. I quickly learned the habit of keeping my watch on my nightstand, next to my bed, and winding it regularly several times a day: in the morning immediately after I awoke; precisely after luncheon; and just before retiring for the night. My watch did not need such regular attention, but the routine soothed me as much as the sound.  
  
When I became involved in Holmes’ cases, the luncheon-winding became more irregular, as did my meals when he was on cases. Still, I kept the habit of winding my watch upon waking and before sleeping, even on those cases where ‘wake’ and ‘sleep’ occurred in random lodgings, on various trains, or even taking turns watching over various buildings and persons. I’m sure Holmes noted my habit, but he never remarked upon it.  
  
The morning after my solo return from Switzerland, I reached for my watch as usual, though sleep had eluded me.  
  
A ping, as if something inside had given way, and then nothing. The watch ceased to tick, and would not wind. I tried again and again, vaguely aware of the futility of my efforts, but unable to stop, feeling panic rising in my chest.  
  
The next thing I knew, the watch was on the floor, dented from the force of my throw. I buried my face in my hands.


End file.
